


A New Game

by telemachus



Series: Rising-verse [24]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:35:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/pseuds/telemachus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas and Gimli are back in Minas Tirith, visiting the new King. And Gimli has a request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Game

**Author's Note:**

> just a little scene that got in my head while I was working on a longer story. will make more sense to anyone who read 'Just Maybe', but should stand up ok without.

He leans against the door, he watches me as I kick off my boots, and shed my over-tunic, preparing for rest. I look back at him as I realise he has not moved, and I see something in his eyes that I do not recognise.

“What is it?” I say, worried.

He smiles slowly, and folds his arms,  
“I was thinking. It is long since we were first here in Gondor. We – we will not camp again in the fields below the city, where first I saw your hair unbound, but – comb for me?”

I am puzzled, “I comb with you every night, melethron-nin, what do you mean?” I shrug, “You have my comb, you are lord of my heart wherever we are.”

Now he is impatient, “daft elf, I know that. I did not say comb with me, I said comb for me. I would have you comb yourself while I watch. I would hear your thoughts as you touch your pretty ears. I have always regretted being too bloody drunk to enjoy the sight that night,” he smiles, “though I let myself remember it whenever you were not by until I had more of you to remember.”

I still do not understand.  
“But, I am no elfling, I have you, I do not need to comb alone. I – why would you want this?”

He sighs,  
“Because the sight would please me. Because you are beautiful. Because I would become hard watching you, and then I could fuck you. And you would love it.” Again that impatient sigh, “bloody stupid elf, it is a fantasy, a game – but if you cannot understand that then I suppose it will have to remain in my thoughts.”

And now I am afraid,  
“Your thoughts? I – I am not enough? You tire of me so soon?” and I hate the pleading, the fear in my voice and words, but I at times feel so powerless still in this world that elves do not speak of, this world of love and desire, of need and possession.

Instantly he is contrite,  
“No, never, never my love,” and he crosses the room to where I am sunk on the bed, turned away from him, and runs his hands through my hair, pulling my face up to his. “Never,” he says, and his mouth is on mine, his tongue invading me, driving all thoughts from me, “never,” as he pauses to breathe, “I just – elf, I would have you in every way. I would change the past if I could. And – and you looked so fucking good when you blushed that day, I would like to see how far down the blush went, I would like to hear what you were thinking of.” He thinks a moment, and adds, “So long as you were thinking of me.”

I laugh, as perhaps I am meant to,  
“Of course it was of you, it is always you.” I think for a moment, “So – this is not that you no longer want what we have, just – just a game for tonight?”

He nods,  
“Sweet elf, I forget this is all so new to you. I am sorry. It – there are many such games. Some you may like, some you may not,” he thinks, “some I do not.” – I am doubtful and look it – “no indeed, there are some I do not. But – it is just a game. It has no importance, if you cannot, will not – I had not thought it would upset you.”

And though I want to please him, I cannot do this. I – I cannot. I cling to him, and he understands. 

 

 

But.  
I think about what he said. I think when I am watching him sleep. I think when I am eating – and I think I am happy to try different foods. I think when I go out riding – and I think that although I have always my faithful Arod, I choose different paths, different speeds. I think when I am sparring with some of the City Guard, when I am suggesting different training exercises for them. I think when I am shooting with them, setting up different skill tests.

I think when he combs me, and I comb him, and I know this is not something of which he ever thought, something he has learnt for me. 

I think when he is asleep again, satisfied by my loving. And I know this is not something of which I ever thought, something I have learnt for him.

 

 

I wait my chance. There comes an evening when he and Elessar are being very tedious – always it is work, masonry, building, walls, gates, agreements with Rohan, with Ithilien. I do not know, I do not care. I should. I do not. Let others deal with it. I am an elf in love, and it rules me.

By her face, the queen feels the same.

I rise from the table, I stretch, and I smile to myself as I hear his voice falter for a second.

“I am weary. I will go to our chamber.” I lean to his ear, “be not long. I will be thinking of you.”

And I leave, feeling his eyes upon me.

I go to our room, I find my comb, I settle myself on the bed, wearing now only my tunic. Slowly I unbind my hair and begin to comb it out, letting my mind wander back to the night he spoke of – that night after battle when I knew I loved him, when he first touched me, when I did not understand, when I longed for him so. I do not look at the door, I do not need to see to know when he enters. Enjoying the feel of my comb, my hand on my ear, I begin to speak quietly into the silence.

“Gimli, I want your hands. I long for you to touch me. I want you to comb me. I would have you run your fingers through my hair. I would have you stroke my ears again, and this time know what it means to me. Understand how I feel. Know that I need you, want you, that you are so much to me. That I think of you. Your hands. That I want you more than I ever thought I could want any. That I would comb with you and none but you. That I would touch your hair, unbraid you, see you. That I would have the waves of your beard flowing over me and bury my hands in that silk. I would touch your ears, so strange as they seem, I would – oh Gimli, I know not what I would have from you.” Deliberately I pause, and undo my tunic, as though I feel the night warm – and indeed I am flushed and heated. I do not let myself look at him as he stands by the door. I can hear his breathing, and I know he is aroused, I suspect he is touching himself, but I will not look. This is his fantasy, I will do it right, this is a gift to him. At least, it was – I find I am enjoying this. He is not the only one to be aroused.

“At least,” I continue, “I do not really know. I cannot imagine. I – I love you. I want to please you. I need you so. I see you and something in me burns. I long for you, I think of your hands, your voice, I – oh please, please, see me as I see you. Touch me. Need me. Comb me. Let me comb you, let me touch you, I need you so. I – I do not know what it is I need, but I think you do. I think you could teach me and I would learn. I love you so.”

And he steps forward into my sight, and I gasp. I am surprised, although I knew he was there; I am, for an instant, as shamed at him seeing me like this as though he were in truth still no more than a chance companion. I feel my flush, my traitorous flush spread over me, and my eyes drop, my hand holding my comb falters, the other falls from my ear and clutches at the bed – although why I have no idea.

“Oh my pretty elf. My sweet, sweet Legolas,” he says, and he reaches for my ears, stroking at them so that I whimper. “My lovely One. I am here, I see you, I want you as you want me.” He runs his hands through my hair, and oh how I love that sensation. Then he pulls my head back and his mouth comes down onto mine and he is kissing me, and I melt into him. He reaches down and takes my hands, bringing them up to his beard, “unbraid me,” he says, and I do. My hands are exploring even as he keeps stroking through my hair, I let my hands move round and soon I have all his hair loose, falling over us, my hands running through and through, touching at his ears, my voice rising in delight.

“I need you, I need more of you,” he says, and he is pulling at my tunic, it is on the floor, and he pushes me back to lie spread out before him on the bed. “Oh Valar,” he says, and I confine my amusement at his un-dwarflike oath, which he must have learnt from me, to a twitch of my nose, “oh sweet Mahal, I want you so.” I watch, breathing hard, as he throws off his own clothes, and I reach for him. Then he is on me, touching, stroking, kissing every part of me, and I am pulling him up for I want his mouth on mine, as I wrap my legs round his waist, holding him to me.

“Please,” I say, “please my love, have me. Love me.” And as I feel his hesitation, I add, “now. I am ready. I – I knew how this would end. I am eager for you. I need you. You know I need you.”

And I gasp again as he enters me, and it is so good, oh so good. I cling to him and with every thrust I call his name, I love him so. He needs not reach down to touch me, I am so afire with his kissing, with his hands in my hair, on my ears, with touching his hair, with his mouth on mine, with the feel of him in me, it is hardly any time before I am screaming, screaming with pleasure, clinging to him, coming and arching against him. As I fall back I am still holding onto him, and I feel him moving once more, hear his breath in my ear, feel his shudder and he comes deep within me, saying my name.

He collapses onto me, and I hold him, kissing at his hair, stroking his back.

“Love you,” he says.

“I love you too.” I pause, then find I need to ask, “was that as you hoped?”

“No,” but before I can panic, “better. And – I think you quite enjoyed it? At least – I think most of the palace would say you did.”

I twitch my knee as though to kick him, though we both know I will not. He cannot help but tease me for this, I cannot help but be noisy. I am a wood-elf – we are not known for our restraint.

“If you are not careful, I will sing next time. And you did not like that at all.”

“You always bloody sing. Quietly is fine. The full-voice singing was fine. Until you translated the words. The singing in sindarin would be fine if there were no elves in earshot. I just did not like your whole bloody colony grinning at me next morning.”

“My elves did not grin.” I consider this, “well, not much.”

He snorts, and we are silent, wrapped round each other for a long moment. Then he rolls off me, pulling me with him so I curl into his arms,

“So, love, that was my idea. Shall I wait for your elvish imagination to come up with another game – or was one enough?”

I smile into his chest,

“Oh, I think I shall think of something. But – I do not mind if you have more ideas.” As he holds me and drifts off into his sleep I feel his content, and I begin to think.


End file.
